


Versatility Long-Awaited

by acheeseball



Series: the x-reader THREE-parter haha [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: ?????, Awkward Boners, Come as Lube, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Gen, Hand Jobs, Lapdance, Making Out, Sexual Frustration, Vaginal Sex, it's a bird it's a plane it's mettaton's penile virginity, mettaton gets compared to a roomba, oh snaps mtt's gettin a donger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheeseball/pseuds/acheeseball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last we saw our heroic and pantyclad couple, Mettaton only had a vagina. Well, mi amigo, now the game has changed, and you can't wait to experience The MTT-Brand Robocock (TM)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. dora dora dora the exPLODER

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an irredeemable sort of follow-up to my last fic....... if you haven't read it you might be a tiny bit confused here but hey we all live to die anyway amirite ?? ? enjoy my sweet return you trashcans

Being the much-envied and furtively gossiped-about partner of a dizzyingly rich and famous robot didn’t exactly fit into what you expected of your life. Then again, as preached by many a saccharine Hallmark encouragement card, _life is full of surprises_. Your relationship with Mettaton was nothing if not full of surprises, and lately it seemed to be packed with them.

One event in particular had stunned you when he announced it out of the blue, and with the most unfortunate timing (for god’s sake, he was an idol, didn’t he have experience with cues and line delivery?). In the middle of your side job as a babysitter, he had rung you up and cut straight to the chase: he was being outfitted for a robotic dick.

As soon as he’d said it, the glob of baby puree you had been about to feed that little blonde kid slid off the spoon and onto the floor. Once you had gotten over your initial shock, you reprimanded him and exchanged a few words before the kid had a chance to start fussing. In the midst of balling up some paper towels over the spill, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander at the news.

As per his shameless request during his non-corporeal days, Mettaton’s EX form had been built with a vagina, which he enjoyed immensely, and even more so now that he had a girlfriend (yes,you) to use it with. What penetration he’d been unable to accomplish he made up for with his vast collection of... _toys._ You had nothing against that, as your experiences with said toys could only be described as explosively good. Well, except for the time he brought out the one that was shaped like a stick of dynamite and actually came with explosion sound effects. You found it to be a bit excessive.

All in all, the only thing you found yourself wanting in your sex life was for both of you to feel each other instead of you taking toys all the time. Once or twice, you had asked Mettaton if he felt like he wasn’t receiving enough, but he denied any dissatisfaction and would tiredly kiss you until your mind was off of it. You had wondered if the news of his _upgrade_ had meant he’d been fibbing to avoid awkwardness, but upon a later conversation, he spoke rather enthusiastically about how this would spice things up and _definitely clear up your concerns about how pleasurable it is for me, darling._ Then he went through an explanation of how his genitalia were now interchangeable, and your mind flourished with filthy thoughts.

That had taken place nearly two months ago, and almost immediately after the announcement of his robocock, all hell broke loose around Mettaton’s workplace in the span of a few days. All of a sudden he was being dragged a hundred different directions for this photoshoot, and that afternoon meeting, and an impromptu research trip to Italy because audiences (Papyrus) would not be able to _bear_ any inaccuracies on the Mediterranean special of Mettaton’s cooking show. Even after his new genitals were set for use, the daily demands would not cease, and more often than not your only contact with him would be a Skype call or a quick peck on the lips as he passed you by in the studio. You knew it wasn’t permanent, but being apart from Mettaton for such long intervals left you feeling all sorts of unsatisfied, most obnoxiously in regard to sex.

Once, in the midst of a particularly chaotic day, neither of you could stop exchanging glances during a meeting held for most of his employees. It was an hour of utter humiliation, being in a room full of  people while wiping the sweat off your palms and pressing your thighs together whenever the robot so much as blinked at you. By the time he had adjourned the meeting, and you resigned yourself to leaving along with everyone else, you heard the click of his tongue, and turned to see him beckoning you over with his finger as soon as the others had left. He swiftly closed all shutters in the room, and through some series of events blurred by voracious groping and sloppy kisses, you were kneeling between his legs, eating out his heart like a starving animal.

The rush was so euphoric, but so short-lived, as Mettaton had stressed through gasps and moans that you would have to make it quick. His fists clenched, and his hips bucked, and as you licked his heart you could feel the hard bulge of his newest feature pressing against your neck. You nearly whined at how unfair it was to be so close to it, and yet you were unable to give him any more than a hurried soul-sucking. When the deed was done, your underwear was wet and Mettaton’s slime had made a veritable mess on the both of you. Your desperate escapade ended with him staying in box form for the rest of the day, and you escaping through the rear entrance of the building, praying that no one would question the goopy state of your shirtfront.

It was fair to say that you and your toaster-for-a-boyfriend had been dealt with a stroke of bad luck; one that was rapidly amassing absurd amounts of sexual frustration. You hadn’t done anything beyond the meeting room incident for so many weeks that, try as you might to keep a level head, the mere sight of Mettaton had you buzzing with the flustered and mesmerized feeling you had gotten upon seeing him in person for the first time. You were getting sick of reprimanding yourself for letting carnal desires take hold of your thoughts at inappropriate times, filling you with shame as well as a temporary satisfaction. In fact, you were slowly realizing that as your needs grew more dire by the day, you’d go to riskier-than-normal lengths just to get that ridiculously spine-tingling pleasure from your robotic lover. You never knew this side of you existed, and you wondered just what you were capable of while under this unbearable spell of lust. You had a feeling you would find out very soon.

-

Holding up a job as Mettaton’s assistant as well as being a part-time sitter was certainly draining, but it made enough money to live a comfortably middle-class life, so you carried on. Despite repeated attempts on Mettaton’s part to add “extra compensation” on top of your already sizeable wages, you refused to accept, since you were wholly satisfied with the amount you earned on your own merit. Yes, both of your jobs were absolutely worth it, especially your job as a babysitter.

That’s what you recited in your head now, as the two toddler-age children of today’s clients squealed through their seventh episode of Dora The Explorer.   

There you were on the couch behind them, almost grateful for your crumbling sanity if it kept your mind off the nagging fact that it was now exactly two months since you last got laid. You repeated the process of shaming yourself for feeling this way, and doubled the shame for having those feelings in the same room as a couple of kids who couldn’t even tie their own shoelaces. This was pathetic, _you_ were pathetic, were you really so much of a horny disaster that you couldn’t focus your energy on something more important, like making sure the kids didn’t splash apple juice onto the rug?

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. For an instant you were relieved to be occupied with a mundane conversation, but seeing Mettaton’s smirking face on the ID made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” you answered the call with an attempt at nonchalance.

“‘Hey’ yourself!” he responded emphatically. “It’s hard to believe I snagged a bit of free time to give you a call, but, you know what they say. Nobody can resist my overwhelming charm, least of all my manager.”

You exhaled through your nose. “How’s your day been? Hope it wasn’t as bad as last week.” Your arms still retained a dull burn from that day when Mettaton had up and run out of charge in the middle of walking you home, and you damn near tore up your biceps trying to prevent his beautiful face from hitting the pavement.

“Oh, thankfully it’s been bearable so far,” he said, a hint of tiredness in his voice. No matter how he tried, it was impossible to flawlessly keep up his perky, dramatic persona in circumstances such as these. “I know you’re at a client’s house, so I’ll be brief: would you like to stay in my dressing room to watch the recording of my live show tonight?”

You brightened at the idea. Normally whenever Mettaton went up for a live show, you were relegated to the task of doing paperwork in a small office, all the while wishing you could watch from a screen backstage. Sure, it could get noisy there, but whenever you did manage to catch a few glimpses of his dazzling grin and over-the-top antics between breaks, you were extremely grateful. Now Mettaton was suggesting that you watch from his dressing room all by yourself, and you were pleased, as it would probably be quiet so you could fully appreciate every second.

“Sure!” you said. “I’ll probably be done with this job in a couple hours. What time should I be there?”

“Five o’clock should be perfect.” There was a bit of sharp background noise, the sound of Mettaton whining about something, and then he continued speaking. “Sorry about that, darling. I swear, it’s just-- _ugh,_ some of the people I’ve had to deal with today are such… _jerk-offs._ ”

You didn’t know what made you do it, and you tried to hold back, but the joke slipped out of your mouth before you could act reasonably and stop it. “I bet you wish the number of jerk-offs you work with matched the number of times you’ve actually had a chance to jerk off.”

 _What in the hell, did that even make sense._ You had just attempted to add on to the running gag you had instigated about Mettaton not even having enough time to himself to _experiment_ with his new parts except for maybe one or two times since he had gotten them. You immediately felt humiliated for making such a lame joke, and in front of some kids, no less.

Mettaton made a small noise, and then laughed a hissing laugh. “ _Sweetheart,_ that certainly came out of nowhere.” You sheepishly chuckled, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Well,” Mettaton said, his voice shifting lower, “hopefully soon I’ll be able to do more than just jerk off so i can turn my solo act into a duet, hmm?”

It was a mistake to look at Boots counting bananas on the TV while your crotch became warm at the same time.

“I’ll see you tonight, beautiful. Expect some heavy smooching at the very least.”

You cleared your throat. “S-sure, uh, bye. And thanks!”

You hung up and threw your head back, groaning frustratedly. One of the kids wailed that his juice box was empty, and while negotiating with him to think about having a drink of water for once, your mind riled over how this robot could, within all reason, be the death of you.


	2. he brought u some hot food hes a keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be funny this chapter and i apologize if it's lame

You opted to wear a dress to the studio that evening. It wasn’t anything fancy, but you figured Mettaton would like to see it on you, so of course that was reason enough. Briefly, you had entertained the thought of slipping on some of the lingerie he’d given you underneath your clothes, crazed with the idea that you might strike it rich and _finally_ get at least some mutual touching at some point while you were with him. Ultimately you decided it was all probably going to be in vain, and plus, you didn’t want to be even more disappointed if and when you were denied the chance to show off your newest negligee.

You drove out to the studio and soon enough you had woven your way through swarms of crew members and come upon Mettaton’s dressing room once more. You raised your hand to knock, but out of nowhere you heard his voice boom, “Oh, darling, you’re here! I’m glad I caught you.”

You looked to your left and saw him rounding the corner of the hallway, balancing what looked like a covered food tray on one hand. “Did you have to wait for me long?” he asked, reaching the door and pushing it open.

“No, I just got here,” you said. He was definitely holding a food tray, something smelled delicious. Upon entering his room, he set the tray on a side table next to the lounge in the middle of the room and invited you in. When you closed the door behind you, all external noise was silenced, and suddenly you felt light with happiness. You were here, alone, face-to-face with Mettaton, and after the past couple of months it felt like a rare luxury.

In seconds, he was bending down to hug you. Though his metal parts were hard, you didn’t care. The warmth that radiated from his chest and face were what you loved about his hugs. Next, of course, he smoothed over your jaw with a gloved hand and kissed you hard. You thought about deepening the kiss, but somehow in your sexually frustrated state knew better than to be so desperate, so you relished in it for what it was. You were the first to draw back.

“I miss you a lot,” you said softly. Mettaton’s lips pursed.

“Darling, _ugh_ , it’s been absolute _torture_ for me not to be able to even text you some days,” he said arduously. “Two months have never felt like such an eternity.” He then smiled with what looked like gratitude, taking the liberty to dot a few kisses on the side of your face until it started to tickle.

You nudged him away, giggling. Your attention turned to the food tray. “Hey, is this for…?”

“Yes! I prepared this meal especially for you to have during my show. The cover should keep it warm until then, and--”

“I think you mean whoever premakes the food on your cooking show prepared this especially for me,” you corrected. You both knew very well that he couldn’t tell the difference between a spatula and a soup spoon.

“Oh, hush and let me have a bit of the glory.” He tousled your hair, and his gaze fell on your outfit. “Here, let’s sit and chat. We have time before the show. Have I seen you in that dress before?”

You reclined on the cushions of the lounge. “I don’t know, have you?”

“Hm, I can’t seem to remember.” Suddenly his arm flew dramatically to his forehead and he pointed his leg skyward. “ _Oh,_ our time apart is has truly taken its toll!” He sighed with disdain. “In any case, you look _utterly_ lovely in it.”

You weren’t expecting him to reach over and glide his fingers across the hem of your dress. It was only for a second, but for some reason your breath hitched the slightest bit, and oh, Mettaton had caught that.

He laughed, soft and short. “The one good thing about us being apart is that it’s made you more flustered than normal.” He was right, your intense desire to be around him was turning you into a standard-issue Mettaton groupie. You knew better than to let these feelings take hold, he was on in… you didn’t know how long it was before he had to go on, and now he was inching closer to you. His arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly against him. It felt good.

You tried changing the subject, giving him details about your day at your client’s house. The conversation went on for a few chaste minutes, but all the while it was hard to ignore the light pressure of Mettaton’s hand around you as he toyed with the ruching of your waistband. His voice, infinitely more satisfying to hear in person rather than through a mic, vibrated down your spine. The longer you sat beside him, the longer your stew of discomfort, shame, and rapture continued to ferment.

There was a lull in your conversation.

You leaned on his side as best you could with his shoulder armor in the way, taking his large hand in yours. You sensed the last of your composure winking out, no matter how much you tried to keep it.

“Mett,” you started, “I’ve been feeling really…”

“Darling, it’s clear as day how you feel,” he said. “It has been since, like, the second week of this whole mess.”

Some part of your brain took that as a pass to shift yourself into his lap. All you could do was look at him pathetically.

“ _Oh,_ You’re definitely at your limit,” he grinned, squeezing your hips. “It’s a good thing. So am I.”

In the next minute, you were flat against his chest, your lips on his. The kiss was considerably wetter this time around, slow and sultry. That, combined with the way his hands roamed uninhibited all over your body, made you moan.

“Mm, I know, baby,” he hummed. “I miss _all_ of you _so much._ ” Now his tongue was deep in your mouth, and your face began to burn at the sensation of his gentle sucking. You felt enveloped by a wave of bliss.

You made out for a few minutes uninterrupted until you noticed a slight change in Mettaton’s movements. He kissed you stiffly for a few seconds and then parted, an illegible expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I guess I still can’t control this thing very well,” he said with a touch of embarrassment. He glanced down, and your attention was brought to his groin. The material of his leggings strained over his erect cock as he squirmed with his thighs together. You wondered just how many awkward situations he had gotten into because of this.

“I’m constantly getting hard at work when my mind wanders, and I can’t stop it,” he wailed, his head dropping back on the cushions. “Part of me doesn’t want to stop it, though.”

“Man, you’re really shameless,” you told him as you stroked his upper thighs, relishing in their softness. There was really no holding back now. All you wanted was to take him in your hands and pump him to climax, or better yet, feel the girth of his member in your mouth. You had the opportunity and your libido wasn’t going to let you waste it.

“Do you want me to touch you?” you  whispered.

“ _Yes, please, now,”_ Mettaton gasped.

You started grinding yourself down on him first of all, since you were dying for intimate contact. Your hips rocked on their own, and you lifted the hem of your dress so he could see your movements clearly. You felt him through the fabric, and it was warm and thick and and you wanted it inside you, you cursed these layers of clothing for being so restrictive. Then again, he was going onstage shortly, so you reluctantly cut the lapdance short, leaving the robot moaning with need.

 _“F-fuck,_ this is good,” he said coarsely. “I want to feel your pretty little hands stroke my cock, can you do that?”

You bit your lip, arousal stinging in your abdomen. _“Hell yes.”_

You scooted back on his lap and eyed his bulge once more. It seemed to be about the biggest size you had been able to take from his selection of toys, and that made your clit throb. Now, though, you focused on giving him the best handjob you could.

You were urgently curious about how it looked. Your thumbs teasingly traced his waistband, and you imagined the possibilities. Maybe it was ridged on the sides, maybe those ridges were tiny pink hearts, or maybe it had a vibration setting. You wouldn’t have put any of that past him. Christ, it might even be built to stimulate your g-spot. Mettaton was nearly whimpering with impatience, so you pulled his leggings down and watched fixedly, hungrily as it caught on the tip of his dick.

Luckily you didn’t topple over and get a concussion when the alarm for the start of the show sang like the loudest cockblock in history. You yelped with angry surprise, but had you not thought with your vagina, this wouldn't have happened. A look at Mettaton and you swore his life must be flashing before his bionic eyes. In his silent rage he gripped a decorative pillow too hard and it burst, scattering feathers. You hopped off his lap when he yanked his leggings back up with a livid huff, then buried his face in his hands.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you amended, or tried to. “I can’t believe I lost track of time like that, you should get...going.” But one look at his crotch and you knew even an exhibitionist like him wasn’t going anywhere.

“Oh, no no, I lost track of time too,” he said consoled. He looked up in frantic thought, snapped his fingers, and reached over his shoulder to flip his switch. You watched him transform into a box with worry.

“Wait, aren’t they expecting you in EX form?”

“I have no choice,” he grumbled, massaging his nonexistent temples.

“It’s a sit-down talk show, how can you sit down with a wheel?”

“When i get there I can turn back and just cross my legs until it goes away or something!” Mettaton zipped over to the door and flung it open. “I’m free after the show, so sit tight, darling!”

He hurried down the hall, shutting the door behind him. After a moment you sighed and looked for the remote to the room’s TV.

-

Half an hour into the show, you were lying on the lounge, having almost finished the food Mettaton had brought you. It had been delicious, and you were thankful for it since you forgot to eat when you left for the studio. Now, you watched a half-bird half-lizard interviewer throw out some questions from fans.

Mostly they were about Mettaton’s wardrobe or hair care routine, but there was the occasional smart-aleck (what’s the difference between you sweeping the floor on your Sweeping Floors Sundays show and a Roomba?”), and the occasional weird one (Will you ever sell bottles of your used joint grease?”). The interviewer, by some astronomical chance, got through a good amount of questions before the topic shifted onto you.

“This one’s from an anonymous fan, hailing from an equally anonymous hometown!” She squawked. “Anonymous asks: ‘how do you like to spend time with your datemate?’”

 _Seems tame enough,_ you thought. Still, you were skeptical as you shoveled a spoonful of rice and beans into your mouth.

You swallowed hard when Mettaton’s eyes locked straight onto the camera like a military-grade sniper. He was grinning, you knew that grin. He was looking at you.

“Oh, we do so many things together, it’s hard to pick a favorite activity. For now let’s say… picking up where we left off.” He punctuated that with an overzealous wink, intended to confuse everyone but you.

“Ooh, always an enigma, aren’tcha, Mr. Mettaton?” The interviewer lady gushed as you gaped at the screen with your mouth full of food. You narrowed your eyes at the TV, hoping he could feel your death glare through it.

“And for our next segment,” she continued, “it’s time for one lucky audience member to spin the wheel for a chance to win tickets to the first screening of _Mettaton: The Final Chapter (But Not Really Because Everyone Has Already Seen His Endless List of Upcoming Movies)_ ! Mr. Mettaton, why don’t you do the honors and bring the wheel out here?”

He didn’t move, and looked more like a deer caught in headlights. You noticed his crossed legs. “Err, you mean stand up and get it, from the wings?” he asked.

As you realized what was happening, you were hit head-on with a stampede of secondhand embarrassment. You turned away from the screen, guffawing. He couldn’t seriously still be hard this long into the show. You imagined him selling Viagra and laughed even harder.

“Ah, I’m afraid it's time for a word from our sponsors before we get to that!” Mettaton said quickly, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. His nervous-looking state didn’t last for long, though, as you caught what looked like the beginnings of a scheming smirk.

He cleared his metallic and unneeded-of-clearing throat. “We’ll be right back after this little blip from LoveGlove.” He damn near made eye contact with you as the screen faded to black and the commercial for his _fucking condom brand_ lit it back up _._ Immediate reactions aside, how was it possible to sponsor himself?

You felt like flipping the side table where the food tray and dirty utensils were stacked. If there was one thing besides stage presence he was an undeniable master at, it was weaseling out of demeaning situations and giving them a neat 180°. Ok, maybe it was part of the stage presence package, but he was able to do it whenever and wherever he needed. At this particular time, it drove you up the wall, and you wanted him to pay. You were sinking your own ship just to kill the captain with this idea, but maybe there was a way to make him wait just a little bit longer after the show to tear into you. You wanted to play a little hard-to-get, even at the expense of your screaming sex drive, which begged you not to stall your eventual satisfaction.

Plans raged in your head for the majority of the rest of the show. You flip-flopped between taking a chance and going for it, and calling it all off and staying in the room until he returned. In the middle of you arranging the foodware more neatly so it could be disposed of, you came up with a solid idea of what to do.

You had to move fast since the show was wrapping up. Mettaton’s resort wasn’t far away (you could walk there from here in five minutes, and two minutes if you drove), and there was a special room on the top floor reserved for any time you visited. Once there, you would call him and tell him where you were, dress up in some cute lacy panties, and wait for your inevitable destruction once he came (pun intended). He wouldn’t be too pissed by your antics since the resort wasn’t far away. Just pissed enough to want to pin your arms to the bed and pound into you until you were gagging on air.  

Feeling a bit lightheaded, you gathered your things with just a few minutes left of the show. You tried looking as inconspicuous as possible leaving the dressing room, even though you figured people would only think you were leaving to meet up with Mettaton. You smiled to yourself as you passed through the studio’s rear exit and unlocked your car. If only they knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out LoveGlove is actually a "magical silicone cooking glove"??? eh you could still use that for fun times probably


	3. we are entering the no-chill zone I REPEAT WE ARE ENTERING THE NO-CHILL ZONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT I'VE BEEN BUSY BUT I FINALLY DELIVERED AND THIS HAS TO BE THE MOST SHAMEFUL THING I'VE WRITTEN YET 
> 
> LUCKY FOR YOU THOUGH RIGHT???

You speedwalked in record time past the front desk, up the elevators, and straight to your suite. Somehow you managed to say a quick hello to anyone who greeted you, and luckily, _amazingly_ , no one questioned why you were in such a rush. Your heart leapt into your throat as you shut your door, unlocked, and proceeded to rip off your clothing while tapping out a text with your left hand.  

_I’m at my suite. I figured it would be a better place for us to “pick up where we left off” ;)_

Usually you didn’t send such come hither-y texts, but these were extenuating circumstances. Once you were undressed, you hurried to the dresser on the other side of the room, taking inventory of the lingerie there. As you rummaged through some drawers, Mettaton’s reply made your phone buzz.

_sweetie i hopr you can deal with notr being able to wlak fo r a few dasy_

“ _Ohhhhh,”_ you groaned to yourself, struck with the knowledge of how much trouble you were in. Usually Mettaton didn’t send texts with so many typos. Either his fingers were malfunctioning and in need of repair, or he was so fired up he didn’t have room to care about spelling. You seriously hoped the former wasn’t the case, considering the stress his body had been through lately.

You found a pretty set of underwear, hot pink and skimpy. Nothing could have been more perfect. You wriggled into the thong, fiddled with the bra, and stole a look at yourself in the full-length mirror before diving into your bed to wait for him.

Waiting was agonizing, and each second felt like a year, especially to your lower regions. By now the anticipation alone engulfed you and went straight to your pussy, you were already dampening what you had just changed into. He’d probably scold you for that. You really hoped so. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep fisting the sheets in your hands to get your focus off of how ridiculously horny you were.

Your heart sang when you detected high-heeled footsteps drawing nearer to your room. Mettaton tried the lock, realized it was open, and stormed in, slamming the door behind him with such impressive force, the hinges might’ve gotten a touch looser. Your voice diffused into a desperate moan before you could form words, and your eyes followed him as he rounded the room to the foot of the bed.

You were confused and almost angry that he wasn't flinging himself onto your body, neglecting any precursors to what you were about to do. He snatched a chair from the small vanity next to the mirror and whirled it around so it faced you. Sitting down and leaning the chair back by putting his legs up on the bed, he spread his legs for you, and the sight of his bulge again was damn near unbearable. He roughly palmed himself, throwing you such a smoldering glare it felt sharp enough to draw blood.

“Darling,” was the first word from his mouth. He sounded croaky. “Do you know how ready I was to fuck you until I shorted out, until you were left out of breath and overflowing with my cum?”

“You were planning to do that to me in your dressing room?” you said, driven crazy by the thoughts he was putting in your head.

“And I would have if you hadn’t scampered off like a little brat.” He was getting far too into mashing his palm into his crotch, but you could tell it was difficult for him to stop. You heard wet noises every time he pressed down.

“ _Uhhn,_ It’s been self-lubricating for the past ten minutes. I might be just about as drenched as your pussy is right now, love,” he purred with a coy look.

“Drop your pants, get in the bed.” The words barged past your lips, alien to the concept of being contained at this point. There was nothing you wanted to see more now than just what the hell he looked like down there.

“Goodness!” Mettaton feigned horror just to irk you, his gloved hand flying to his mouth. “Well, if you insist, my little tyrant.”

He carelessly kicked the chair away, rose to his feet, and seemed ready to hit you with the slow agony of a striptease. The tension proved to be too much for him, though, and he peeled off his leggings as quickly as possible with a bit of wiggling and maneuvering around his boots. He traveled across the bed in a slinking crawl, and you felt positively voracious when he came to hover over you, his body encompassing and his dick swollen and sticky with fluid.

“Here, sit up.” The robot tugged on your arms, sitting back on his calves and placing you in his lap. Lips and tongue met yours, and you sensed the satin of his gloves snaking up your back to undo your bra. You dearly missed the way he played with your breasts, and you moved to moan into his neck while making work of his soft, hickey-prone skin.

“L-let me play with your dick, Mett,” you urged.

“Gladly.”

 _Finally,_ you looked down and tried not to lick your lips like some sort of animal. You had been right about the hearts; you could see a trail of them, looking like sparkly little gems, all lined up on the underside. The head was hot pink and slippery. It was wet enough with the combined fluid and dripping heart goo that you wrapped your dry hand around him and gave a few strokes without any trouble.

“ _O-ooh_ ,” he quivered, hips tilting towards you. His expression was blissful, but at the same time held the vulnerability of someone more inexperienced. Your mind flashed back to that first time you had been with him, the way he looked with your fingers in his pussy for the first time.

“Mm, it’s… different when you touch me,” he said. “It’s so much better than doing it myself...”

“It is, isn’t it?,” you said sweetly. His new parts must have been awfully sensitive for him to be acting like this. Well, there was more surface area on it, that was for sure. You ran your thumb along the heart-shaped ridges while your other hand cupped the smooth warmth of his sac.

Mettaton tensed and twisted the band of your underwear in his hands, breathing sharply. You loved that heavenly sound, you were greedy for more of his moans. “You look like a virgin right now. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“ _Fuck,”_ he choked, “every one of those hearts feels like a clit.” Pressing your palm against said hearts, you drew another long, guttural moan from him. This was becoming excruciating. Though you wanted to try other foreplay on him, every solitary sense within you screamed, pleaded, implored you to shove him back and ride him so hard you’d hardly be able to bear the soreness afterwards. At the same time you yearned for him to twist you backwards and ram into you, biting into your shoulder and stuffing his fingers inside your mouth, taking total control. You thought of a way to get some aspect of both.

“God, Mettaton,” you started. “I really want you to tell me what you were imagining those few times you got to masturbate with this.”

You awaited a response while you slipped out of your panties and cast them aside. Upon hearing your request, Mettaton’s gaze grew hungry, and he seemed to stare right through you. His hands, now ungloved, took the liberty of kneading your ass while preparing an answer.

“I i-imagined you with your hands tied up. You were panting and naked on a leash, and your legs were spread wide, _fuck,_ all of it was being broadcast live…”

You swore you felt a thick string of wetness drip right onto his dick, above which you held yourself with superhuman self-control. Of fucking course his fantasies involved public sex. In theory, and only in theory, you thought it was pretty hot. Damn, he must have been rubbing off on you. Relatively speaking.

“Did you fuck me hard in front of all those people?”

“OO-OH, darling, we were like porn stars, the ratings were a-astronomica-a-al,” he declared, voice skipping erratically.

Thoroughly frenzied, you let yourself fall back on the bed and without a second thought you opened your legs for him. Breathing heavy, you spoke. “Please, _please,_ I need you to let all this tension out on me.” You gulped quickly. “Don’t hold back unless I say so.”

He didn’t reply, he simply clambered over you, aligning your hips with his. In a last teasing hurrah, he pressed his cock along the lips of your sex and moved it slowly, making sure to hit the head right against your clit. Viscous slime poured onto your stomach from his heart. It was now a feeling all too familiar, but you never tired of being covered in his glittery, strawberry-flavored secretions.

“I-I’m going to get inside you,” he hummed lowly.

You held yourself open with your hands. Eagerly, you watched his face, wanting to savor how he looked with all these new sensations jumbling up his receptors and swelling his systems to the point of euphoria. Just the tip entering you was enough to make him roll his eyes skyward, letting his mouth go slack.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he whined adorably. Any endeavor to be coherent anymore was crushed by his visceral lust, leaving him a babbling mess as he pushed further into you. You squeezed your arms around his back, minding the switch, totally honed in on the way he was stretching you, the way the heart-shaped ridges prodded at your nerves and made you shiver. He sank in all the way, and this time you could make out an orgasmic utterance of you being tight and wet.

He remained that way, trembling slightly. You supposed it was because he was trying not to come on the spot. He composed himself through a few controlled breaths, scattered with hints of motorized glitching. Then he thrusted slowly.

Basically it was the same feeling you would’ve gotten had he used a strap-on, but in that instance he wouldn’t have felt anything physical except for the pleasure derived from seeing and hearing you fall apart under his ministrations. In this case everything was different, _so_ different. Every movement sent forth from him a cacophony of moans and expletives, rivers of slime and feverish expressions straight from a sleazy hentai. Everything only got more intense the faster he thrusted, the air around you was warm, he was looking straight into your eyes, his hair spilled over your face.

“L-L-Listen to all those sloppy sounds your pussy’s ma-a-aking,” he grunted once he regained some part of his articulateness. That was one of his favorite things to point out: the disgusting, wet smacking that came with any sort of penetration. You knew how badly it was staining the bed. As long as it was in yours or Mettaton’s room it wasn’t as if you cared. Now he shifted positions slightly, at an angle that hit some sensitive spot inside you, and your arousal spiked, dangerously close to climax.

“ _Fuck!”_

“O-Oh, is-s that good?” He enticed. He took the liberty of lifting up one of your legs, and now you were almost sideways. He gave a light kiss to the underside of your thigh. “D-D-DARLING, I can’t wait to fill you up, I-I’m SO _close._ ”

He was going faster, now his synthetic skin slapped against yours, spreading the wetness all down your legs. You clenched and unclenched around his cock, spasming. You wanted one last thing before you went over the edge.

“Hey, kiss me,” you managed through your heaving breath. You reached out with your arms and his brow curved, a tinge of tenderness in the midst of ecstasy. He leaned forward, kissing you through strands of his and your hair that had fallen out of place in the fray. Pulling back, the robot licked his lips. You felt a fingertip caress your clit.

“I won’t k-k-keep you from your rew-w-ward  any longer, sweetheart,” he cooed. Somehow your right arm was now above your head, fingers braided with his. You jolted hard, feeling his dick begin to throb within you.

“ _Sa-y-y you’re my little cumslut._ ” There was no way to answer him. His flagrant words shattered your limits, and with your descent into depravity you ushered him into his. Your clit pulsed wildly, a corkscrew of pleasure surging through you, provoking your inner walls to milk his dick eagerly. A loud and throaty cry full of electronic synth indicated Mettaton’s orgasm just following yours. Nothing prepared you for what was next.

Gush after gush of hot, thick cum filled you with his essence as your peak diminished. It was enough to propel you straight back into arousal with a vengeance. Just when you thought the stream had to have stopped, more came flooding in, and soon you felt a heavenly fullness laced with a dirty, guilty sense of satisfaction.

He continued thrusting, smirking down at you with his lip bit once his high had ebbed.  You realized just how noisy his inner mechanics were being as they struggled to keep him from overheating. Somehow the sound was comforting to you. The whirring in his chest vibrated securely against yours, a delicate purr, as he placed another kiss on your lips.

He allowed a moment of stillness, brushing your hair back out of your face. He giggled softly. “Feel nice and full, darling?”

“There’s so much,” you moaned. “God, where does it all come from?”

“Honestly, only Alphys knows.”

“Like I said, _god_.”

Mettaton smiled and smoothed a hand over your belly. “I want to watch all of this come out of you.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

In truth you had no problem complying with him, you both knew it. Now he pulled out of you and ghosted his fingers down your open thighs.

The first thing you felt was an off-putting emptiness, but then it was overrun with everything he had emptied into you spilling out at once in a warm, gooey release. It caught you off guard, and worse, you were making eye contact with him and he looked absolutely perverted. He was drinking in the sight of you taking pleasure in something so gross, and before you knew it, that feral part of you begged for another orgasm, and you touched yourself to climax as the last of that creamy substance squirted out of you.

As you regained your senses, you stared at him with a pang of embarrassment. You hadn’t exactly planned on this. He looked genuinely shocked, but quite the opposite of revolted at what you had done.

“My, my,” he said with morbid fascination. “Being able to ejaculate sure has its perks.”

“Fuck.” Was all you said, letting your muscles go limp. You still felt trickles of whatever the hell kind of robot semen flowing out, and had a realization there would only be more when you sat or stood up. Now, you just wanted to lie down, except you knew that the soaking splotch of sex juice you remained in was going to get all cold and clammy soon, and that did not sound like something you’d like to be a part of.

Mettaton placidly made himself comfortable next you, propping his legs up and crossing them. “All in a day’s work for your poor, white sheets, hm?”

“There are extra ones under the bed, right?” you said tiredly. “I’m this close to falling asleep right now.”

Mettaton sighed. “So am I, darling. Lucky I brought my charger, it’s by the doorway.” He took your hand and pecked it, then rolled off the bed to retrieve it. You watched him in your hazy state, absently remarking to yourself how well-sculpted his ass was. Why were you having these thoughts. “Do you need a towel in the meantime?” He offered.

“Yes please,” you responded.

He hadn’t gotten halfway across the room before he stopped dead in his tracks at the apocalyptic sound of the trashiest and most obnoxious ringtone in existence. His ringtone, blasting remixed pop music, of course. It was coming from underneath the vanity chair.

“No,” you said incredulously.

“Apparently, YES,” Mettaton boomed, picking his cell phone up from the ground where he’d left it. He regarded it with the contempt of a pissed-off cat. He turned to you, then looked back at the phone.

Circling around the bed so you could see, he flung the phone to the floor and crushed it with one violent stab of his heel.

“Mett!” you exclaimed.

“I’m sure you’re aware that I could buy myself enough cell phones to fill this entire resort if I wanted to,” he stated without a semblance of remorse. “I’m not going anywhere tonight. They’ll have to rip me from your sweet embrace first.” He winked.

You were touched, really,  but a bit concerned for him. Then you figured that his skipping out on whatever business that phone call held couldn’t hurt that much. He’d had enough of being stretched so thin, he deserved to wind down. With you.

Eventually, and with a struggle to heave yourself out of bed, you cleaned yourself as best you could, got the sheets changed, and soon enough you were under the covers, tightly snuggled against Mettaton’s solid chest. He had removed his shoulder armor so it wouldn’t conflict with the close contact. Upon pressing into his front, you again noticed the faint humming that came from there as he charged, and it put you at ease.

“You sure you can stay the night?” you piped up softly.

“Of course, love,” he said. “It was awfully impromptu, but-- hey, were you planning this from the beginning?”

“Nah, I was just messing with you. Glad it turned out this way, though.”

He chuckled under his breath, shifting his head on the pillow to gaze at you. “I’m glad too.”

You both lay there for a long while, silently gliding your hands over each other’s bodies. It was serene, so wonderful, so refreshing to finally be able to be together like this after what felt like centuries of arduous separation. Now that the utter exasperation of your accumulated lust had at last been quenched (ha, for the moment), nothing was comparable to the loving tranquility of simply sharing a bed and dozing off side by side.

In fact, Mettaton was the first to fall asleep-- or rather, go into sleep mode? Admittedly it was odd, since he didn’t breathe while sleeping and pretty much looked dead, but you knew as long as the faint light in his chassis kept shining and his inner workings putted on with a sedative drone, there was no problem.

In time, you, too, felt a heavy cloak of drowsiness settle in. You succumbed contentedly. The rest of the night you clung to your robot lover in the best sleep you’d gotten in quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awww so sweet and pure :^))
> 
> so I've been thinking about it...... writing a mettacest fic is something on my bucket list but I don't want to lose motivation halfway through so. Do y'all want a mettacest fic??? It would involve tentacles because why not??? pls comment and I may write it but no promises,, man writing was so much easier during the summer


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